The Colour of Fire


There is a colour dear to me,
Dearer than silver and gold,
I wear it on my brow and my clothes;
The colour of Truth it is called.

True, the blooms of the dear, gentle rose
Glow, but soon they will fade.
That’s been called the colour of love;
An attractive, but unreliable shade.

The blue of the heavens is gentle and mild,
So, represents all that is loyal.
But, small clouds tend to dim a pure sky
As worries steadfastness foil.

The colour of snow, so shining and white
Represents innocence, but just for a while;
The dazzling white dress is sullied so soon,
As bad feelings innocence defile.

Why, you may ask, did I endow
This colour in sacred Truth’s name?
Because it pours forth a fiery glow,
A protective and durable flame.

It is not affected by storms of rain,
Or bleached by the light of the sun.
That’s why I wear it on my clothes and my brow;
The colour of the Truth we can’t shun.